


That Fucking Five Percent

by Minxie



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Fest: Gay Xmas Elves, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-01
Updated: 2010-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-13 11:40:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minxie/pseuds/Minxie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy gets curious, and then he gets caught.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Fucking Five Percent

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to the LJ's Gay_Xmas_Elves fest for Magenta. Hope you like it, lovely.

Touring with Adam has, if nothing else, taught Tommy Joe a fuckton of shit. Most of it? Completely useless. Shit he'll never need to know unless he's suddenly in some alternate dimension where he actually plays Trivial Pursuit. Because Adam? Really is a like a damn sponge that soaks up needless information, and then, with one flick of the wrist, spews it out all over those closest to him. Shit like the names of authors and painters and little fucking factoids about every stop on the tour.

It just gets worse when they hit international. Those countries are fucking _old_. They've had a lot of useless crap happen. And Tommy's band mates seem to know – and feel the need to share – all of it.

He's just thankful that once the rest of them get going they don't actually expect Tommy to offer any input. Well, they don't anymore, not since the first time when Tommy flipped them off and informed them that, yeah, he really didn't give a shit about local art and reading was something he basically gave up when he dropped outta college.

It's the five percent that's not totally useless that keeps Tommy paying attention. 'Cause you never know when something seemingly random will lead to cosmic level orgasms. And he's learned that with this bunch, the sex tips are hidden in between the makeup discussions and the debates on the best science fiction writer.

And, because this is _his_ life, it's some fucking random shit, one of those little goddamn five percent sentences, that has Tommy begging off beer night with Isaac and Monte and holing up in his bathroom, trimming his pubes and then steeling himself to shave. Because Isaac, fucking _Isaac_ of all goddamn people, mentioned smooth skin and the way it electrified _everything_.

Like mentioned it three fucking weeks ago. Three weeks of staring subtly – he hopes he was at least subtle – at Isaac's junk and wondering about the promise of smooth skin. So, this? Is all Isaac's fault. And that fucking five percent.

Tommy shakes his head and pushes those thoughts away, puts all of his concentration on his dick and the fact that he does _not_ want to slip with a razor so close to it. And he wonders if he's even gonna be able to get it all, because he isn't _that_ fucking bendy and he sure as fuck ain't scraping a goddamn razor near his balls blind.

He's two pulls into the shave, two stripes of bare skin and the rest of his groin still sporting the short, dark brown pubes, when it all goes to shit and Tommy almost cuts his dick off. Again, all Isaac's fault. The man is a menace.

"Tommy, man, I figured..." and then the bathroom door is jerked open without even a knock of warning, because there is no such thing as boundaries on tour, and Tommy jerks his hand – and the razor – the wrong fucking way, and Isaac is standing there with his mouth wide ass open, and, of course, Tommy's dick twitches and fills and just fucking begs for attention, not realizing how close it just was to being sliced and diced. "Holy fucking shit."

"Um, dude..." Because, really? This is just pushing up against all kinds of personal lines and shit. Tommy doesn't know if Isaac is down with that whole guy-on-guy thing that Tommy worked out as being really fucking good somewhere between Peoria and Atlanta. And until Tommy knows for sure? Drummer boy _needs to go_.

Except Isaac isn't going away. He's coming fucking closer and, yeah, Tommy's dick is all for that. And, honestly, so is Tommy, because Isaac's hipbones? They tease him every fucking night. Every. Fucking. Night.

"Need..." Isaac stops when his voice breaks and swallows. "Need help with that?"

And, huh, okay. Isaac seems to be more down with the whole guy-on-guy thing than Tommy figured. Unless... "Dude, you know if you do, shit is gonna happen."

"I certainly hope so."

Then one hand is wrapping over Tommy's, working the razor free as the other drags over the strip of naked skin, touching and feeling and, oh fucking goddamn hell, breaking all sorts of barriers and ideas and if Isaac stops now? Tommy is totally going to kick his ass.

"Oh, fuck." Tommy lets his hands fall to the side, and drops his head back against the mirror. This has very obviously become Isaac's show.

Isaac drags the razor and then his fingers over Tommy's groin, holds Tommy's dick to the left and then the right, rolls Tommy's balls and takes the razor lower, and then he spreads Tommy's ass cheeks with soapy fingers and pulls the razor in long sweeping strokes.

Tommy's pretty sure he's gonna blow his load long before they even get to needing lube and a more comfortable surface.

A warm washcloth strokes over the freshly shaved skin and Isaac's hand grips Tommy's dick tight, his thumb rubbing just beneath the head, and Tommy groans – _Isaac, man_ – and precome leaks from his slit and Tommy cannot even imagine how he's gonna manage the feel of boxers rubbing all up on his junk during the show tomorrow night without coming in his pants.

"Bed, Tommy, right fucking now."

Isaac's voice is low and gravelly and beyond anything Tommy has ever heard. He scrambles from the counter and nods, motions towards Isaac's clothes. "Lose them on the way."

'Cause the foreplay act for this night is done and over.

Isaac grunts his agreement and is tugging his shirt over his head and releasing the zip on those fucking skinny jeans that are doing nothing, _nothing_ to hide just how hard his dick is. Tommy licks his lips and nods once. Because, yeah, Isaac is very obviously into this, and Tommy? He is so getting laid tonight.

They hit the bed and roll, Isaac using some kind of hidden strength to muscle Tommy onto his back and Tommy has a protest ready and formed, then Isaac dribbles lube or oil or fucking something on Tommy's groin and his fingers dig into the exposed skin and, Jesus fucking Christ, Tommy loses the thread and all ideas about arguing, about fighting for dominance, go right out the goddamn window. His legs fall open and his back arches and he fucking moans, "Yeah, fuck yeah."

"That's it," Isaac murmurs and then he attacks Tommy's lips. Biting and sucking and licking his way into Tommy's mouth, stealing breaths and moans and demands of _more_ and _now_ and _fuck me, you bastard_.

Isaac shimmies down the bed, drags his tongue over the hot flesh at the base of Tommy's dick, and, pushing at Tommy's thighs, says, "Wider, Tommy."

Tommy spreads his legs and then almost snaps them closed again. "Isaac."

"Hush," Isaac whispers. His fingers hold Tommy's ass open and his tongue darts out, tracing over ridges and smooth skin, lapping and sucking and, finally, thank fuck, finally, pushes into Tommy's hole.

Nothing, absolutely nothing in Tommy's history prepared him for this. Because, yeah, he's had some seriously fun times with Terrance and a couple of interesting nights with Adam, but their mouths? On his ass? Not so much. He's kind of wondering why the fuck they were holding out.

Then Isaac slides a finger in beside his tongue, massages deep into Tommy's ass, and the rest of Tommy's musings pretty much just skitter away.

Tommy grunts and wiggles, cants his hips down and back and just begs for more. More tongue. More fingers. Or, hey, some dick would be nice right about now. Judging from the chuckle vibrating against his ass, some of that was actually said out loud. What the fuck ever.

The tongue disappears – and Tommy totally bites back the bitch about that – and is replaced by two very slippery fingers. Isaac works Tommy's ass open, twisting and turning and spreading his fingers, adding a third and then, with Tommy's eyes rolling back, a fourth.

Isaac slips his fingers free and, leaning up and over Tommy, reaches towards his bag tossed on the small bedside table. He draws his hand back and flickers the condom at Tommy. "Your call?"

As much as Tommy knows he should say yes, knows that playing safe means Isaac wears a fucking rubber, he can't make himself do it. He knows where Isaac has been for the past several weeks, knows the physicals came back clean. And, goddammit, he wants to _feel_ skin-on-fresh shaved skin. Not fucking latex. He shakes his head, once, and mutters, "No."

Smirking, Isaac tosses the condom to the side and drops himself forward, fusing their mouths together for another one of those hungry fucking kisses. Tommy is overwhelmed by the change in Isaac's taste, the way that the hint of beer is gone and replaced by something darker, muskier. Replaced by _him_.

He groans into the kiss, groans again when, without backing away, Isaac uses his thighs and shifts Tommy's legs, nudging his cock against Tommy's ass.

Isaac breaks away from Tommy, sits back on his haunches and, spreading Tommy's cheeks with his hands, he looks down and watches as he buries his dick in Tommy's ass.

Tommy squeezes his eyes shut. It's too fucking much. Way too much. He can feel every nuance, every ridge and vein of Isaac's dick, and the heavy drag of skin against skin. He bends when Isaac pushes at his thighs, falls into the burn of the stretch, and arches his back when Isaac inches in deeper. Tommy grunts and sighs and moans like a whore.

He just fucking _reacts_ to it all. Reacts to the feel of Isaac sliding into him, then pulling back, thrusting over and over and goddamn fucking over. To Isaac. And, Christ al-fucking-mighty, didn't he peg the little drummer boy all kinds of wrong.

Blinking his eyes open, Tommy wraps a hand around his dick and strokes in time with Isaac's thrusting. He focuses on the feeling – the way he's being pushed across the sheets and how Isaac is grinding down, rubbing against Tommy's groin with every push/pull of hips – and the way Isaac looks – the way his neck is straining and his body is covered in sweat and his eyes never once leave Tommy's face – and how every fucking nerve is raw and exposed and how it just makes everything so much more – more intense, more wanton, just fucking more.

Tommy's orgasm catches him unaware. Just storms through him like a fucking freight train, curling his toes and tightening his nipples, and his cock swells and jerks and spills, hot and slick and messy. Then he drops back, relaxes into the bed, and just lets Isaac have his fucking way.

Then Isaac freezes, arms locking and head dipping forward, and his hips roll in short, stuttered stabs. He groans and then sags against Tommy, breaths heaving out harsh and hot over Tommy's chest.

Stretching his legs out, Tommy winces as Isaac's cock slips out. Then kinda, sorta gets lost when he feels come leaking out, wetting his ass, and Isaac's fingers slide between his cheeks, rubbing and smearing and teasing along the edge of his hole.

"Gonna keep it up?"

Tommy assumes Isaac is talking about the shaving. "Want to, doesn't mean I'm anxious to take a razor to my balls though."

Isaac snorts softly, then presses a kiss against Tommy's shoulder. "I could help with that."

Tommy smirks. That fucking five percent. It leads to the damnedest of things.

 

* * * * *

 

  
_Hugs and kisses, glomps and gropes to my prereaders: sunshinyday5762 and vlredreign. Thank you, ladies!_   



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